


Orestes Drunk

by putthatbottledowngrantaire



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M, Prompt Fill, can you tell, drunk!jolras, i really love combeferre, oblivious idiots, oh man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putthatbottledowngrantaire/pseuds/putthatbottledowngrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt found on Tumblr:</p><p>Enjolras gets drunk and goes to Combeferre asking him to make it all stop hurting</p>
            </blockquote>





	Orestes Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> I tried?
> 
> Enjolras is pretty heartbreaking when he's drunk tbh
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks Lucy for making sure this was in English

Combeferre heard the banging up the stairs first.  The sound of someone from the building ascending, bouncing off the walls at each landing, scraping along its surface until they hit the bottom of the next flight and drag their feet up it.  It wasn’t a sound that he was unused to hearing; the many times that Grantaire had made the same walk, making the same sounds as whomever the poor soul in the stair well, was frightening – the familiarity and acceptance of the sounds as a drunken man, often his cynic friend, perhaps even more so.

The sniffling reached Combeferre next.  From his position on the couch, legs up and reading through his physiology textbook with another book on his stomach, his ears picked up the sobbing easily.  Due to past experiences, Combeferre was certainly acquainted with the sounds of Grantaire’s snotty crying, and this wasn’t it.  This was someone else.  Combeferre looked up over his book and at the door to the flat, frowning.  _Who on earth...?_ It was the middle of the night – so much so the middle of the night that it was more realistically the early hours of the morning.

The jump that he made when something landed against the door made the book balanced on his stomach fall to the floor, and he was up on his feet a moment later, moving towards the handle.  Outside the door, someone sniffed loudly and slid down the wall next to it.  A pit formed in Combeferre’s gut when he opened the door to see a head of yellow hair, not black, in hands, resting on knees.  Enjolras sat, legs tucked up to his chest, curled up in a ball, shoulders shaking.

Pitifully, he lifted his head at the sound of the door opening and looked at his best friend with red, bloodshot eyes and a wet face, ‘Ferre, make it stop.’

Combeferre shook himself out of some of the initial shock and knelt down next to Enjolras, ‘Make what stop, Enj?’

‘The pain,’ he replied, clutching at the tear-stained shirt on his chest, ‘it hurts, right here,’ pointing twice, poking hard at his heart, ‘right here,’ Enjolras repeated, this time gesturing at Combeferre’s chest and almost overbalancing his worried friend with the force behind his finger.  Making eye contact for a moment, Enjolras quickly broke it and returned to taking fistfuls of his golden curls in his hands, slumping over once more.

Combeferre took a deep breath to steady himself.  This wasn’t Enjolras.  This wasn’t like him at all.  Combeferre didn’t think that in all the years that he knew Enjolras, which was from the time they were children and lived on the same street, that he ever saw Enjolras drunk, let alone this distraught.

There was once at a party when they were teenager and neither of them knew the amount of alcohol that they could take before their body called time out and expelled it violently and inconveniently.  Since then, Combeferre had really only seen his friend tipsy; Enjolras always avoided getting drunk after that first experience, a practise that only solidified when he met Grantaire.

Combeferre hadn’t thought to properly check where Enjolras was tonight.  With exams coming up in a little under two months, Combeferre had more or less assumed that Enjolras was staying late at the library, working on something or researching, perhaps even just working on their causes.  Usually when he lost track of time, he would let caffeine power him to the nearest residence of one of their friends, usually Courfeyrac and Marius, or Joly as they lived closer to the library than himself and Combeferre.

‘Enjolras,’ Combeferre started, eliciting no response from the blonde beside him, ‘Enjolras?’ this time more loudly, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it softly.  Enjolras responded by lifting his head, moving as if it weighed too much for his slender neck to handle.  ‘Come on, mate, we need to get you inside.  Come on, Enj, up we get.’  Standing up himself, Combeferre transferred the hand on Enjolras’ shoulder to under his arm, trying to gently hoist his friend up off the ground.  When one hand didn’t work he put his other hand under the other arm pit and pulled, Enjolras letting out a small whine as his bottom left the dirty carpet of the hallway and he feet were forced to shuffle into the apartment, one arm over Combeferre’s strong shoulders.

His shuffle got as far as the couch, where Combeferre hastily brushed anything that could be damaged away and sat his friend on it.  Enjolras’ first instinct was to lie down and curl up into another ball, a plan thwarted by his flatmate, ‘Oh no, you don’t, not yet.  I’m going to get you a glass of water.  Stay sitting there.’  He got a grunt in reply and then some mumbled sentence which may have been, ‘I’m not a baby, Ferre, don’t mother me,’ if Enjolras has been any more sober, which satisfied him enough to leave the room and return a moment later with the glass.  He placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch and sat down next it, in front of his seemingly broken friend.

‘Do you want to talk about it, Enj?’

‘It hurts. Why does it hurt so much, Ferre?  Why?  I’m tired.’

‘I know, but what hurts, Enjolras?’

‘Everything.  I can’t understand it, is that why it hurts? My head hurts but it’s not that.  It _aches_.  I just want to sleep.  Can I sleep? No, I don’t want to.’

‘Do you not want to tell me what’s up?  Why did you get like this?’ Combeferre questioned, remembering the water and passing it to Enjolras.

‘I don’t know how.  Can you make me better, Ferre?  You always make things better.  That’s always been the way.  I break things and you and the others put it back together’

‘That’s not it at all, Enj, you know that. ’

‘But it is!’ Enjolras winced at his raised voice and lowered it again to the drunken drone, passing the glass back to his friend, ‘I’m cold.  Cruel.  I don’t know why.  Why?’

‘You’re not, Enjolras, why think that?  What’s broken?’

‘R...’

‘Oh, Enjolras,’ Combeferre sat back, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes.  This was about Grantaire?

‘This makes him feel better, doesn’t it?  When I’m awful to him?  He drinks.  I drank.  I’m drunk.’  Enjolras wrapped his arms around his stomach, folding in half, forehead resting on his knees.  ‘Oh god, I’m so drunk.’

Combeferre is equipped for many conversations.  This is not one of them. After all this time, one would think that Combeferre would have an argument and discussion ready to go for when Enjolras finally worked it out, but alas, he was kicking himself for drawing blanks.  This was the last thing he expected.  Courfeyrac banging Enjolras and Grantaire’s heads together came above this situation in the list.  He closed his eyes and took yet another deep breath.

‘Combeferre?’  The plea in Enjolras’ voice made Combeferre’s eyes fly open to be met with the startling blue of Enjolras’, looking directly at him, begging Combeferre, ‘Help me.  Please.  I don’t know what to do.  I need...’  Enjolras broke eye contact to move them around the room, as if they were physically searching his brain for an answer, a line appearing between his brows as they came together.  Combeferre could see fresh tears in his friend’s eyes when they turned back to him, answer discovered.  ‘I need you to fix me.’  The first tears chose then to fall, cutting a path down Enjolras’ face and falling onto the leg of his pants.  Enjolras poked at the wetness, feeling the sensation as it soaked through to his leg.  Combeferre grabbed his hand and clasped it tight in his own.

‘Enjolras, listen to me.  You are not broken.  I don’t need to fix you.’

‘But... I am...  I’m broken.  I break things.’  Enjolras’ hand shook violently in Combeferre’s, Combeferre though trying to hold it steady and secure.  A yawn forced its way out of Enjolras, turning into a groan at the end.

‘No.  Just... no.’  Another tear fell down Enjolras’ cheek.  ‘I’m going to get your pillow and a blanket, okay?  Do you want to sleep here tonight?  Or do you want to move to your bed?’

‘Here will do, Ferre.  I’m tired.  And drunk.’

‘I know, mate.  One second, yeah?’  With a final squeeze of Enjolras’ hand, Combeferre got up and moved swiftly to his flatmate’s bedroom to collect the pillow and to the cupboard to grab a spare blanket.  When he returned to the couch, Enjolras had stretched himself out, legs bent slightly to accommodate their length.  He was blinking sluggishly, fighting off sleep despite declaring how tired he was previously.  _Typically Enjolras_ , Combeferre thought fondly, though the thought was marred by the worry the drowsy man was causing.

Gently lifting Enjolras’ head by putting a hand under its curls, Combeferre placed the pillow under it and let his friend’s head rest on it.  He smoothed Enjolras’ hair causing him to hum a little before throwing the blanket over him and tucking it in at the back and sitting back down in his original position on the table

‘Thank-you. Ferre.  See you make things better.  I just... can’t.’

‘Enjolras, that’s ridiculous.  You make us all better.  Better people.  Surely, you can see that?’

‘I don’t make _him_ better,’ he sighed.

‘Seriously, Enjolras, you can be thick sometimes...  look, we can talk about this when you wake up later.  I’ll keep an eye on you while you sleep, yes?’

‘What do you mean?  How am I thi-’ the sentence was interrupted by another yawn, this time Enjolras’ eyes not opening back up again.

‘In the morning, okay Enj? I promise we can talk about this in the morning.  You need to sleep right now.  You’ll feel better’

‘I don’t think I will...’

‘Just try?’

‘Okay, Ferre...’  Sleep came to the golden man only a few minutes after, the tightness in Combeferre’s shoulders relaxing minutely to see the even rise and fall of Enjolras’ chest and the way that his friend wrapped the blanket more and more around himself the further into sleep he fell.  Combeferre stood up from the coffee table and bent over one last time to sweep the hair away from Enjolras’ mouth

Running his hands up and down his own face twice, Combeferre picked up his phone from where he left it earlier in the night.  Opening up his contacts and going to his Favourites he dialled the first number on the list.

It rang five times before it was picked up.  There was a lot of noise on the other side of the line along with a loud bang, which Combeferre figured was either the phone or a body hitting the ground, then a sigh being let out and finally, the answering voice in a hissing whisper, ‘Do you have any idea what fucking time it is right now?’

‘Yes, I know exactly what time it is.  I have a situation here, thank-you very much, Courf.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s Enjolras.  Can you come over?’

‘Why?’

‘He’s a mess.  Don’t wake up Marius on your way out.  Please, Courf,’ Combeferre replied, pleading at the end, all too like Enjolras.

‘Our Enjolras?  What do you mean a mess?’

‘It’s a fucking Grantaire role-reversal here!’ he almost shouts at Courfeyrac, quickly turning his head to make sure Enjolras hasn’t woken up at the raised voice, ‘Get your arse out the door and over here.  Now.’

‘Shit.  Just lemme put on some pants.  Waking up Marius shouldn’t be an issue, he sleeps like a log!’

Combeferre breathed a sigh of relief, though not because he for a moment doubted Courfeyrac would come over to help him and to help Enjolras.  There is nothing Courf would not do for his friends. ‘Thank-you, mate’

‘I’ll bring coffee.’  And with that Courfeyrac hung up the phone and Combeferre sat down at the dinner table, still with a direct view to the couch, to wait for the cavalry to arrive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took a mere fifteen minutes for Courf to arrive at the flat.  He hesitated for a moment before knocking softly, balancing the two stacked coffee cups in one hand.  Combeferre tiptoed across the room to open the door and let his friend in, putting a finger in front of his mouth and gesturing over his shoulder to the couch.

‘Shit, really?’ Courf whispered, taking in the scene. 

Combeferre reached for the top coffee cup, gratefully taking a large sip and nodding.  ‘Really really’

Courfeyrac walked as close to the couch as he dared and squatted down to be eye-level with Enjolras. ‘Good lord, what in the hell has he been drinking.  He smells like shit!’

‘I don’t even know, Courf.  He just got to the door like this.  He didn’t even tell me where he was all night’

Courf almost looked sad while appraising his sleeping friend.  As always, Enjolras looked vulnerable in sleep - often when he passed out studying or reading, Courf and Combeferre would joke about how soft and peaceful children were when they were unconscious. However, the usual innocence that Enjolras would exude when sleep relax his shoulders and let his mind rest was completely shattered by the smell of booze wafting off of him.  ‘What happened?’

‘He had an epiphany’

‘About?’

‘... Grantaire’

Courfeyrac let that sink in for a moment, before his pitying look turned to anger, his eyes going wide as the information hit him, ‘Are you fucking kidding me?!’ he shouted, making Combeferre clamp a hand down hard over his mouth to shut Courfeyrac up and prevent any more outbursts. Both pairs of eyes darted to Enjolras who merely shifted a little in his sleep.

‘No, Courf, I’m not kidding you.  Trust me, I wish I was’ said Combeferre evenly, a false sense of calm, with his hand still firmly over Courfeyrac’s lips.  Ferre raised an eyebrow at his friend, silently questioning whether he would control himself, to which he received an eye roll in return.  Satisfied, Combeferre peeled his hand away before Courfeyrac would get any bright ideas like licking it.  Courf had form in that area.

‘That _idiot._ Absolute bloody _pillock_ is our great leader.  He _just bloody realised_.  I can hardly look at him right now,’ Courfeyrac hissed once his lips were freed.   True to his word, Courf looked at Enjolras, scoffed and then marched towards the kitchen, putting his coffee cup on the bench top and leaning against it, back against the stone edge.  ‘So – he realised he is in love with Grantaire and decided to get drunk and feel sorry for himself is that it?’

‘Um, I’m not really sure...’

‘Then what?’

‘I think the problem is... he doesn’t think R likes _him_ ’

That was too much for Courfeyrac to bear as he made a spluttering sound and then just quietly groaned, turned his back to Combeferre and dropped his head on the bench top. ‘I hate them both.  What are we going to do with them, Ferre?’

‘I suppose that’s what we have to figure out.  We are not sending him straight to R though.  Enj, needs to get his bloody head on right first.’

‘Agreed.’

Enjolras slept comfortably on the couch for seven hours, waking up in the early afternoon.  After stretching his legs out, and regretting moving at all once his pain centre caught up and told him what an extraordinary headache he had, he turned over from his position facing the back of the couch to see his two best friends asleep.  Combeferre was leant back in the armchair, Grantaire’s favourite nest when in the apartment, with his head lolling back, mouth open and glasses crooked.  Courfeyrac (who had apparently arrived sometime after Enjolras nodded off) was literally curled up on the floor at Combeferre’s feet, resembling a kitten, face burrowed down into the crook of his elbow.  Forgetting himself for a moment, Enjolras chuckled at the sight, sending shockwaves of pain throughout his body, radiating down from his skull; the chuckle quickly morphing into a groan as he threw an arm over his face to cover his eyes.

The sound awoke the notoriously light-sleeping Combeferre who realised after a dazed moment that his hungover friend was awake, bumping Courfeyrac with his foot to get him up as well whilst righting the glasses on his nose.  Initially, Courfeyrac only made a swatting motion at the pressure, mumbling something before curling into an even tighter ball.  Combeferre was forced to bump Courf harder, poking at his ribs twice.

‘Jehan! What the fuck?’ he sat up saying, swinging around to realise that it was not who he thought it was bumping him.  Combeferre smirked a little, eyes lighting up and one eyebrow cocked.

Courf’s cheeks reddened at his friend’s expression, ‘Now is not the time,’ he said, getting up and blinking away the stars at the edges of his vision, caused by making himself upright much to rapidly. ‘We have another matter to deal with,’ Courfeyrac continued, walking toward the kitchen to open with cupboard he knew was always well stocked with painkillers.

‘To be continued then.  And mark my words, it will be continued,’ Combeferre warned his friend, still smirking at the new information.

Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes as he returned to the lounge room, kneeling down beside Enjolras and peeling away the arm over his face. ‘I come bearing drugs and water,’ he offered the glare of the golden man – admittedly a glare that was more a squint due to the light in the room, but a scowl was there none the less.

‘Ugh, just leave me here to die,’ Enjolras whined

‘Never,’ Combeferre said, straightening in the armchair.

‘Just take the pills and drink the water, Enjolras,’ said Courfeyrac putting the glass and two tablets in the palm of his hand further under Enjolras’ nose.  Begrudgingly, Enjolras pushed himself far enough into a sitting position to take the tablets and drink the water without drowning in it or spilling any over his chest.  ‘There we go!  Just like a big boy!’ Courfeyrac said, hands clasped in front of his chest in mock pride.  ‘You have twenty minutes respite now.  Enough for me to have a coffee and for those pills to sink in then,’ Courf pointed at Enjolras, lips pursing and eyebrows bunching slightly, ‘we are getting to the bottom of this.’  Enjolras withered under the gaze of his friend, sinking back down and re-covering his face.  Combeferre remained in his position, continuing his watch over his roommate, the concern from last night/this morning flooding back to him and clouding his face.

Coffee took five minutes to make and Courfeyrac placed the two steaming mugs on the coffee table, leaving once last time and coming back with two chairs from the dining table which he set up on the opposite side of the table, directly facing the couch.  The sound of the chairs hitting the ground so near to him made Enjolras wince.  Courf sat in one and picked up the mug, wrapping his hands around it and breathing in the smell deeply.  Combeferre followed suit, pulling his body from the armchair and sitting next to Courfeyrac, taking up his own mug.

The two men sat there in silence for the next fifteen minutes, sipping at their drinks and staring at Enjolras’ slowly relaxing body as the painkillers were absorbed.  Courfeyrac looked at his watch and determined that the allotted twenty minutes had expired.  He put down his empty mug, leant back and crossed his arms.  ‘Right.’

Enjolras dropped the arm from his eyes to reveal a look that was halfway between dread and resolve, ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting...’ he started, weakly.

‘How about an explanation?!  Like, that would be a good place to start!’ Courfeyrac near-shouted, exasperation clear in his voice.  Already he broke his restrained pose, sitting forward and throwing his arms out. ‘I get a call at some god-awful fucking hour of the morning from Ferre to say that you have gotten drunk and that he’s worried about you and that shit is about to hit the fan!  Yeah, an explanation would be a wonderful place to start, I think – don’t you agree Combeferre?’ he said, turning to his side, breaking eye contact with an increasingly sheepish Enjolras

‘That I do,’ Combeferre replied, looking directly at the man on the couch.

‘Good,’ Courf said, refocusing on Enjolras, ‘Now.  Shoot.  And remember, it better be good.’

‘I...I don’t know,’ Enjolras said, looking guilty at his lame response.  Courfeyrac took a deep breath and sat forward a little more, ready to start at Enjolras again, but Combeferre held up a hand, reading the body language of both his friends, and seeing that it was best to let Enjolras figure out what to say.

Enjolras needed time to figure out the words, to vocalise what he was feeling.  From experience, Combeferre knew that Enj could find the words to express his views and philosophies naturally, they flowed from him as if they had been rehearsed time and time again.  Sure, occasionally Combeferre needed to refine the words to make them cutting and sharp, but Enjolras always knew what he was doing when talking on what he believed.  The sophistry came easily to him.  Voicing his emotions was always another story.

‘I saw R last night.  I was walking home and I saw him going into a bar across the street.  I don’t even know why I followed him.  He laughed, I think... it carried across the street and I just thought about how little we have ever heard him laugh.  Like, actually laugh, not just those little scoffs or anything.  Maybe I wanted to know why or something... I don’t know.  Whatever it was, I followed him into the bar... and he was buying a drink... and a girl came up to him...’  Courfeyrac could see where this was going and it was doing nothing for his anger.

Enjolras continued, ‘He was already drunk and she was there and she was all over him... and it hurt.  I don’t know why it did, but it _hurt_ , like an ache in my chest.  Like someone was pressing down on me and I was suffocating and it was an awful feeling... I walked up to him’

‘Don’t tell me you...’ Courfeyrac began, fear in his eyes

‘...And I told her to back off.  Fuck, I don’t know why.  And Grantaire looked... in pain?  Like he was looking into the Sun and burning.  And he stumbled and almost fell over and I caught him and he pushed away from me... He pushed me away!’

Combeferre sat, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses.  Grantaire was there too... shit.  He pulled out his phone and sent a text around to the others to check if Grantaire had come home last night.  He hadn’t counted on R being anywhere near Enjolras; who knows what he could have done after running away.  Courfeyrac turned to Ferre, clearly thinking the same thing and now worrying about R as well.

Enjolras was beginning to cry again, trying to keep the tears from falling down his face and failing, ‘He asked me why I did that and yelled at me telling me I had no right and how dare I do this now, and he was right!  I have no right to do that to him!  But my brain just reacted!  I don’t even remember going up to him – one minute in on one side of the room and the next I’m telling the pretty woman flirting with him to fuck off!’  He dropped his head into his hands and ran his fingers through his hair.  ‘He called me Apollo and yelled at me some more.  He skulled his beer and paid and then he left.  He told me not to follow him and he left, ran out the door as fast as he could to get away from me.  I didn’t follow him.  Why didn’t I follow him? You both would have followed him!’ 

The blonde man was now crying openly, sobbing and sniffling loudly.  Courfeyrac’s stare has softened as his friend talked, some of the anger bleeding away.  He got up and stepped over the table to sit on the couch and pull Enjolras into a hug.  Enj rested his forehead on Courfeyrac’s shoulder as Courfeyrac began to rub circles on his back, trying to sooth him.  ‘Courf, I fucked up.  And I just thought that drinking seemed to make Grantaire happy – until I ruin it, of course.  God, I’m such an idiot...’ He said, punctuated by sobs as he tried to stop himself crying all over Courfeyrac’s shirt.

Still clutching to his friend and rocking gently, Courfeyrac replied, ‘You really are, Enj...’

‘Courfeyrac...’ Combeferre began, about to ask whether that really was the best approach to the situation, only to be silenced by a look.

‘No, Ferre.  We have watched this for too long.  We have sat by and watched this happen hoping that it would sort itself out – well, it hasn’t.  It’s only gotten worse.  It needs to stop.’  He pulled Enjolras away enough to look him directly in the eye and repeated, ‘It needs to stop.’

Enjolras took deep breath and deep confusion spread over his face, causing Courfeyrac to pull him back into the tight embrace.  Ferre’s phone vibrated in his hand, the caller ID telling him that Jehan was calling.  He stood up and left the room before answering the call.

‘Jehan?’

‘Ferre! Hi!  He’s here – came home about two hours ago... he’s kinda asleep at the moment...  is there anything I should know?  He... didn’t seem himself...’

‘It’s Enjolras.  They came across each other in a bar last night’

‘Enj? A bar?’

‘I know.  It apparently didn’t go down well... Enjolras came to some sort of realisation.  Well, he realised he has feelings at least, not sure if he has realised what they mean yet.’

‘Feelings for Grantaire?  He’s figuring this out now?  Last night... in a bar?  Sorry, going to need time to process that one’

‘It’s just how it sounds.  They got in a fight... again.  But Grantaire left and Enj got drunk and came home really early in the morning a complete mess.  I was worried about R...  he’s okay?’

‘I mean, he’s still breathing, I just checked.  He’s in his own bed.  Got there before he collapsed.  He was crying and exhausted, and flat out refused to talk to me.  I hate seeing him like this, Ferre.  We need to do something,’ Jehan said, clearing his throat at the end to get rid of the lump.

More than the rest of them, Jean Prouvaire had seen what Grantaire was like when he came back from a big night - or from a bad day.  More than the others, because they lived together, Jehan had led Grantaire into bed and pulled off his shoes, had cleaned his friend’s face of blood and dirt from when he had gotten into fights, had run his fingers through Grantaire’s dark curls to untangle them as the man vomited into the toilet. Jehan had been the one to hear Grantaire pine, and sob, after his Apollo.  His cruel, savage, _completely blind_ deity.

‘Courf is here now, talking to Enj – you’re right, Jehan, this ends.  It’s bad for both of them.  I never thought it would get this far.’

Jehan took a breath to answer but is cut off by a noise, which Combeferre can hear from his end of the line, ‘That’s Grantaire – he must be awake considering I’m fairly sure that was him falling out of bed.  I’ll go check on him.  Call me, or tell Courfeyrac too.  Keep me updated.  I’ll text you what R is like, deal?’

‘Perfect.  Talk later, Jean’

‘Love you too, Ferre’ and then Jehan hung up.

In the time that Combeferre had been away on the phone, Courfeyrac had apparently got up and made all three men another coffee - Enjolras’ first for the day.  The blonde man was taking a gulp from his mug as he saw Combeferre study him n his re-entry and smiled weakly at him, hoping to covey some of how grateful he was for last night as well as the first steps towards an apology. Courfeyrac had seated himself on the couch next to him, still watching him intently.

‘So where are we at?’ Combeferre asked, sitting down in the armchair and addressing both of his friends, reaching to grab the coffee that Courf is holding in his direction.

‘Well, we are trying to discern _what in God’s name was Enjolras thinking_ and what comes next – I took a small amount of pity and made more coffee, though Enj understands that it’s on a _quid pro quo_ basis, right?’

‘As you keep reminding me,’ Enjolras grumbled into his cup.  Combeferre chuckled a little only to be met with a scowl from both Enjolras and Courfeyrac.  Coughing a little to hide the end of the sound, he took a long sip of his drink, avoiding Courfeyrac’s narrowed eyes.

‘Courfeyrac’s right though Enj, this needs to stop,’ Combeferre supplied after Courfeyrac had turned away, ‘it’s shit for everybody at the moment’

‘What is?  I don’t understand what you mean!  You keep saying that I’m thick, or blind, or that whatever is happening needs to stop but I don’t know what!  I’m so confused, Ferre...’

‘Jesus, Enj, have you really shut down your feelings that much?’ Courfeyrac whined, grabbing Enjolras’ free hand

‘What do you mean?!’ Enjolras shouted, slamming his mug down on the table and pulling at his curls, already dishevelled enough as it was, ‘I haven’t shut down my feelings!  I feel!  I’m not a robot, for fuck’s sake – I just don’t know what you’re on about... and _holy shit my head hurts_ ’

‘That’s what you get for shouting at friends who are trying to help you, and when you have a hangover’ Courfeyrac replied, though at the same time placing his mug next to Enj’s and shuffling closer to his friend.

‘I’m hung-over, confused, tired, sore... and Grantaire hates me.’

‘See?  This is why you are an idiot sometimes, Enj.  Grantaire doesn’t hate you, trust me, I _know._ ’

‘You didn’t see him last night, Courf.  He hates me.  We fight all the time, I put him down – pick on him – and then I, what’s the word?  Cock-block him?  How else could he feel about me?’

At this, Courfeyrac burst into hysterical laughter, dropping his head on Enjolras’ shoulder, ‘Oh god...I can’t,’ he got out between sharp breaths, ‘Ferre... you’re going to have to take over... I’m not cut out for this...Go on without me... I’m just too mad with him and this is too funny right now’

Enjolras huffed and moved to the side, letting Courfeyrac overbalance and fall onto his side.  The man didn’t seem to notice, wiping tears away from his eyes.  Combeferre rolled his eyes and, once again, pulled himself from his seat to kneel in front of an annoyed-looking Enjolras.  Enjolras had this way of looking angry at his friends that reminded Combeferre of a kitten – this kind of scrunched-up, pursed look that was reserved only for those close to him.  No-one else would understand the softness of Enjolras’ anger towards his friends until they saw him in full flight.  Enjolras could do mad like no other that Combeferre knew, a rage that was like looking into the abyss and that made you feel as if you would burst into ashes right there and then – but this was never the anger he pointed towards his Amis, they knew him too well.

Once, they had all been at Joly and Bossuet’s flat watching Disney movies; Emperor’s New Groove was put on and at the end when Ezma was turned into a kitten, Grantaire pointed at the television and then at Enjolras, ‘Look!  Oh my god, its Enjy!’  Everyone burst into laughter and no-one denied the similarity, causing Enjolras to pull the offending look which, of course, only made everyone laugh harder.  Even Combeferre couldn’t stop.  He smiled now to think of the memory.

‘Don’t pull that look, Enj, you have no right.’ He said, lightly. Courfeyrac’s laughter faded and slowly the man sat up and re-focused, still wiping his face and smiling slightly.

Enjolras’ scowl deepened for moment and then his face relaxed, returning to a defeated look, as if his confusion had got the better of him. Meeting Ferre’s eyes, ‘Ferre, Grantaire hates me and it _hurts_.  I thought drinking last night would make it stop.  But it just made it hurt more.’

‘Enjolras stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen to us.  Grantaire does not hate you.  I’m sure there are times he wishes he could, but he can’t’ – Enjolras’ eyebrows formed a line between them as he deciphered that sentence, while Combeferre continued – ‘He cannot hate you and everyone knows that except for you.  We have all, everyone one of us, watched the both of you for years now hoping, _praying_ , that you would sort it out, but now it’s just unhealthy.  And ridiculous to say the least’

‘You can say that again!’ Courfeyrac interrupted

Combeferre ignored it and continued, ‘Enj, I’ve known you your whole life and never seen you like this before.  And I’m not just talking about last night. I’ve never seen you like the way you are around Grantaire, and the way you have been since you met him. And good lord, anyone who has ever met R knows.  Enjolras, Grantaire has been in love with you since the day he met you.’

‘And you’re in love with him too, you absolute _clot!_ ’ Courfeyrac finished, dropping off the couch to kneel next to Combeferre.

Enjolras’ eyes widened a fraction before he pulled his legs up to his chest and clamped a hand over his mouth.  His eyes flicked between the faces of his two friends for a minute or two before finally getting out, ‘I’m an idiot’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘Oh _god!_ I need...I need to go!’  He got up and was instantly pushed back down by a hand on each shoulder. Again he stared at his friends confusedly, ‘what are you doing?  I need to find him!’

‘He’s with Jehan.  He’s home, in bed.  And he needs time.’ Combeferre explained to him. ‘Hell, Enj, _you_ need time.  There is no way we are letting you go running to him.  Jehan will text me and then we will take you over there.’

‘But...’

‘No.’ Courfeyrac said, with a great sense of finality. ‘Believe me when I say that there is nothing I would like to see more than you and Grantaire together and smooching, but even I can’t let you run up to him like this.  For a start, you need clean pants.  And toothpaste, mate, _jesus_.  And say, an hour to calm the fuck down.’

Enjolras groaned, yet nodded as he squeezed his eyes shut. ‘I’m an idiot’

‘At least you are agreeing now,’ Courfeyrac said with a smile and a trademark wink.

 

 

 

 

The hour passed with an Enjolras that was antsier than Combeferre or Courfeyrac had ever seen him before a rally – and that was saying something. 

He showered in five minutes; an almost unheard of feat, with Enj usually taking long showers as one of his few indulgences.  It was a chance to unwind and sooth, letting the warm water rush over his skin and sweep away troubles, from the moment he stepped in to the second he stepped out.  Courfeyrac had barely had time to turn on the television before Enjolras was crossing the room with his hair sticking out in all directions from a rigorous towel dry, said towel wrapped tightly around his waist, to go to his bedroom and find clean clothes.  Moments later, just after Courfeyrac had switched to a news channel, he remerged wearing skinny jeans, that Bahorel and Feuilly told him he should buy when they tagged along with Jehan and Enjolras’ annual shopping expedition (Enjolras rarely found the motivation to go shopping so a plan was devised six years ago that someone would take him out and dress him once a year, at the very least; Jehan volunteered), and his red plaid shirt, an old faithful that had survived many late nights and impromptu Courfeyrac Closet Cleans.

Courfeyrac looked him up and down once before scoffing, ‘Really, Enj?’

‘What?  How do I look?  What’s wrong?’ he said, frowning as he studied his pants and the front of his shirt, making sure that there wasn’t some stain or mark that he had missed seeing.

‘Nothing, nothing...’ Courf sighed and shared a pointed look with Combeferre, who shrugged slightly and went back to watching the news.  Grantaire’s day was about to get a whole lot better, or worse, depending on the perspective.

The next twenty minutes involved Enjolras sitting back on the couch and stretching his legs out, slotting them in between Courfeyrac’s bottom and the back of the couch, and trying to settle.  All that was achieved though was a squirming Enjolras and an irritated Courfeyrac when ten toes wouldn’t stop moving behind his arse.

He shot a hand out and grabbed at them, halting their movement, ‘I swear to God, Enj, stop moving them or you lose them.’  Enjolras scowled, but pulled his legs up regardless, focusing instead on being appalled at the events of the world and arguing with the newsreader.

Combeferre, who had picked up one of his books from last night to bury himself in, without looking up reminded Enjolras _numerous times_ that she couldn’t hear him through the TV screen.  The last time, Enjolras replied snidely, forgetting himself, ‘No, Ferre, but you can.’ 

Combeferre simply gave his friend The Look over the top of his book and his glasses; The Look that everyone knew was the end of any conversation or Combeferre was about to unleash Hell.  Enjolras looked like a deer in the headlights for a moment, made an apologetic face, and returned to the news; watching it in silence even if there were times that he looked like he was going to explode in patriotic fury.

The last half an hour sitting and waiting, Combeferre started to receive more texts from Jehan, who had finally gotten Grantaire to first wake up properly and then, in a near miracle, actually talk.  Each time, Combeferre’s phone alerted him to a new message, both Enjolras and Courfeyrac would look up like expectant puppies.  Eventually, Combeferre turned his phone onto silent, though Enjolras continued to glance at him periodically or whenever he was writing a reply.

Finally, to everyone’s relief Jehan messaged that R had gone into the study to paint, clearly the conversation concluded.  Ferre made eye contact with Courfeyrac in a rare time when Enjolras wasn’t looking and Courf sprung up from the couch, ‘Thank God!  I really couldn’t handle it without _strangling_ him for much longer’

Enj looked up at Courf before cluing in that it was time to go and getting up himself and switching off the television, ‘I’m driving,’ he said, heading to the door and reaching for the car keys in the bowl.  Combeferre came up behind him and snatched them away, ‘You’re still technically drunk.  And stupid.  So, no, you’re not.  I’ll drive,’ and smiling left the apartment and headed down the stairs.

‘He’s right, you know,’ Courfeyrac said, also smiling at Enjolras as he passed and followed Ferre.  Enjolras lent his head against the door frame for a moment relishing how cool and smooth it felt, before locking the door, seriously reconsidering his choice in friends for the umpteenth time, and trailing along behind the other two, as quickly as he could go without making his head hurt too much.

Being last to the car meant that Enjolras got to ride in the back.

‘Guys, I’m not a child!’  Combeferre and Courf didn’t respond; they merely looked at each other, and shared a pained expression.  Enjolras didn’t fail to notice, so huffed, and turned away from his friends to look decidedly out the window, crossing his arms and scowling.  This position however wasn’t held long – Enjolras was always a nervous fidgeter, and this was only heightened now that he was not able to pace back and forth through the flat.

After what felt like an age to all inside the car, Combeferre pulled up in front of Jehan and Grantaire’s place.  Despite his earlier enthusiasm, Enjolras sat in the car for a moment and just breathed, to steel himself as if for a rally or a speech.  He played with the handle for a moment before opening the door and striding past a waiting and slightly impatient Courfeyrac and an amused Combeferre.

They went up the stairs together, Enjolras leading the group and being the first to knock on the door.  They heard what could only be Jean Prouvaire flitting across the apartment, probably from the kitchen, and unlocking and unchaining the door – all of which took an agonisingly long time in Enjolras’ opinion.

The door opened to reveal Jehan who blocked it for a moment, ‘He’s really actually serious about this?’ he asked, somewhat sceptical, not quite believing Enjolras was actually awake to the situation – or perhaps that this was all actually a dream, and Jean would soon wake up to find things running normally and Enj remaining completely oblivious.

‘Actually serious,’ Courfeyrac confirmed.

Still not quite believing, Jean turned to Ferre, who nodded and also corroborated the story, ‘Enj has made his mind up.  Or more cleared his mind, I suppose.  Either way, you know him; I had to stop him from coming a while ago, like I told you’

‘Yeah, but still...’ Jehan’s gaze drifted across Enjolras, who was rubbing his face with a hand.

‘Again, guys, I am here and can hear you, and if you don’t mind...!’ With that he squeezed around Jehan and started towards the one place that Grantaire would be – his studio, a converted study with paint stained carpet and nowhere near enough ventilation.

‘Enj!  Wait one second,’ Jehan said, rushing to catch him, grabbing his wrist to make him turn around. ‘Just... be gentle, okay? Promise?’

Enjolras’ annoyance softened, looking at Jehan it was hard to want to do anything to upset the man – though Jehan was just as likely to make you pay for any mistakes if you made them, he certainly wasn’t as meek as he came across, ‘Promise.’

Jehan smiled broadly and pulled Enjolras closer to kiss him once on the cheek, releasing his wrist. ‘Thankyou.’  Jehan then turned away to sit with the two other men, who had taken up residence in the living room in front of the door.

 

 

 

 

Grantaire was in his happy place.  Well, maybe not his happy place per se, but it was a place where he could just be – experience a freedom that he could only feel when alone and smelling paint and feeling the stuff drying on his fingers and crusting along the hair on his arms and on his head.  The rest of the world fell away in his little room – he was forever thankful to Jehan for letting him set everything up in their spare room – and when he put his headphones in and blasted his music, it seemed to push away all his thoughts, rid him of an existence in anything beyond these four walls.

It was for this reason that Grantaire did not hear the three guests in his home, not that a visit was unusual, and also for this reason that he jumped out of his skin when he felt someone tap him on the shoulder and gently remove and ear-bud.

‘Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph!’ he cried, as he crumpled away from the touch and raised his hand in defence, turning around with enough force to almost knock his canvas down. ‘Jehan what the f- you’re not my roommate.’  He looked at his hands once in embarrassment and lowered them.

‘...no.’

‘Um, hi?’

‘Hi.’

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at the blonde man’s lack of eloquence, straightening the canvas so that it was no longer teetering, ‘So... What bring you into my den?’ he asked, running a hand through his unruly black curls.

‘Ah, I wanted to talk to you...about last night...and other things,’ Enjolras replied after moment, he eyes constantly darting between Grantaire’s and something above the eyeline, ‘Sorry,’ he added, again after a distracted moment, ‘you just streaked paint all through your hair...’ He took a step forward, towards Grantaire, which had the other man leaning back slightly.

Grantaire rolled his eyes and tried to stretch a curl down in front of his face to see the damage, ‘It’s been known to happen.  Ugh, yellow is always an arsehole to get out. Ah well, add it to the list!’  He pulled a face, a sort of twisted smile, that Enjolras determined was somewhere on the self-depreciation scale, and re-ruffled his now yellow-highlighted mop.

‘Don’t do that’

‘Do what?’ Grantaire paused, mid-ruffle.

‘Talk yourself down like that.’

‘Um, okay?  Hasn’t really bothered you before, but I’ll try to tone down the self-loathing in your presence from now on?  Anyway you wanted to talk about last night,’ he finished, crossing his arms, creating in his mind a barrier between himself and his ruin in Enjolras.

‘Oh, right.  I’m sorry about that, truly I am,’ he said, weakly.

‘You’re sorry?’

‘Yes, I am, really, I don’t know what came over me... well, I do, but I didn’t and it was wrong.’

‘And did it take Combeferre for you to figure this out?’  Combeferre, who along with the other could hear very clearly what was going on in the other room, winced at that comment.  Combeferre understood Enjolras best from the years they had spent glued at the hip, but Grantaire certainly came close to the mark.

‘No... that’s not the point.  I shouldn’t have done it, I know that, bu-’

‘No, you shouldn’t have done it!  What right is it of yours?!  It’s my own business what I do and just because you are pretty much the leader of our group does not mean that you can jump in and protect my virtue!’

Enjolras, not being allowed to speak his mind was getting riled up, ‘I know that!  It’s none of my business who you fuck around with!  I told you a second ago, I didn’t know why I did it, and then you left and I couldn’t...’

‘Couldn’t what?!  Jesus, Enj, couldn’t give me another lecture on how to live my life?  Couldn’t judge me some more?  Who I fuck around with?  Fucking hell, I only fuck around be- no.’ He stopped abruptly and turned away, determined to start his work again, and return to his previous state of relative bliss.  ‘I don’t want to deal with this Enj.  Just leave me alone would you?  Rant at me later, preferably after I’ve had about two litres more caffeine.’

Enjolras practically growled at this dismissal. ‘Fuck, and they call me an idiot.  Jehan told me to be gentle, well, fuck gentle.’  Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s shoulder and spun him back around to look his in the eyes, slamming their lips together before Grantaire could speak again and before Enjolras could rethink.  Enjolras closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of R’s lips, cracked and dry from being chewed on and licked constantly, Grantaire having a habit of darting his tongue across them at regular intervals.  Grantaire was too stunned to move.  His arms pinned themselves to his sides, his eyes wide open and unsure where to look.  He wanted to relish this moment with all his might, wanted to enjoy this first kiss – a thing he had been imagining for years, fantasising about – but he was frozen.  He didn’t know what to do, how to react to the reality of Apollo’s lips.  He was kissing a god, how does anyone react to such a thing?

After a moment, Enjolras pulled away, fear and doubt creeping their way in to his mind.  He was about to open his mouth to speak when Grantaire reached a hand up to touch his own lips, before taking a deep breath, and leaving the room, avoiding touching Enjolras at all on the way out, and shutting the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Enjolras’ earlier courage failed him.  He leant his back against the door and slid down it, falling into the same position that Combeferre had found him in front of the apartment that morning, putting his hands together and placing them under his nose.  Now he had done it – he had broken the relationship past the point of no return, and he was utterly lost at what to do next.

The knock on the door came two minutes, or two hours later, Enjolras wasn’t sure; all he knew was that it was accompanied by Ferre’s voice and not Grantaire’s.  Without answering the call of his name or opening the door, he shuffled to the side to allow Combeferre to enter the studio.

‘What happened, Enj?’

‘You didn’t hear it all?’ Enjolras scoffed

‘Well, we heard the yelling, but that’s obviously not all that happened’

Enjolras pulled at the ends of his hair, ‘I kissed him.’  He took in Combeferre’s moment of shock, unable to hide it, before continuing, ‘And he ran away from me.  End of story.’

‘Enj...’ It was then that Enjolras felt the first tears fall from his eyes, quickly wiping them on his sleeve and sniffing his nose which had begun to run.  Combeferre simply pulled his friend into a hug.  ‘It will be alright.’  And they sat there.

Even from the studio, Ferre and Enjolras could hear raised voices, Jehan and Grantaire coming from Grantaire’s bedroom.  So loud was Grantaire they heard his reply to whatever Jehan said very clearly, ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S BEEN CRYING?’

A door swung open and Courf cried from the living room, ‘Incoming!’  The studio door was then too opened. Enjolras sprung to his feet when he heard Grantaire say quietly, yet firmly, ‘Ferre, could you please give us a minute?’

Combeferre stood up from the floor and looked at Enjolras, who nodded, and then to Grantaire who gave him a small smile, and left the room.  When Grantaire made eye contact with a red-eyed Enjolras, Enjolras saw that Grantaire too had obviously been crying.  Grantaire took a small step towards Enjolras, ‘Please don’t cry, Apollo.  I’m sorry about that before,’ he said, reaching out with one hand to where Enjolras’ rested at his sides, only to let it fall back.   It was Enjolras who reached out to take Grantaire’s hand, entwining their fingers. ‘I just couldn’t process that... for a moment there... I had to get out... it doesn’t make sense, I’m sorry’

‘No.  Never be sorry for that.  Never,’ Enjolras implored him, punctuating his word with a squeeze of Grantaire’s hand.  It was rough, and calloused in places, but smooth in others from rigorous scrubbing to remove traces of charcoal and paint most likely – it was so very Grantaire.  With his free hand, Enjolras slowly reached up to stroke the side of Grantaire’s face, running his thumb along the cheekbone, soothingly; lovingly.

Grantaire close his eyes to the touch, trying to maintain his grip on the situation; to maintain his grip on reality – this was real and not some dream he was about to wake up from, he chanted to himself.  Keeping his eyes closed he asked, ‘Do you permit it?’

Enjolras’ eyebrows knotted together in confusion, and when Grantaire opening his eyes to see that expression he flicked his eyes to Enjolras’ lips and asked again.  Enjolras smiled widely, almost wanting to laugh. ‘Yes.  Always.’  Grantaire slowly leaned in, tentatively, as if Enjolras would at any moment withdraw his permission.  For the second time it was Enjolras that closed the gap, hoping to assure Grantaire that it was allowed, that it was perfect. 

When their lips met this time, Grantaire was much more willing.  It started out softly, Grantaire still testing the waters, pulling away to meet Enjolras’ eyes.  Enjolras simply raised an eyebrow at him, causing Grantaire to laugh out loud and dive back in again, this time moving his lips against Enjolras’ in a way that made Enjolras moan quietly, in the best sound that Grantaire ever heard and a sound that Grantaire wanted to hear again.  Enjolras could feel Grantaire smiling against his lips, and if it was Enjolras that was the first to slide his tongue along Grantaire’s or the one who suggest they find somewhere more comfortable to continue, no-one would ever know.

 


End file.
